


Love is a Many Splintered Thing

by IgnobleBard



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, My Slashy Valentine 2010
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-13
Updated: 2013-06-13
Packaged: 2017-12-14 20:18:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/840956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IgnobleBard/pseuds/IgnobleBard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unfinished WIP</p><p>Even in paradise love doesn't always go as planned.</p><p>Written for Quende Lasse</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love is a Many Splintered Thing

Request: 4th age. Glorfindel/Erestor happy couple life is good; Maedhros/Fingon happy couple life is good... wait, did I just write that? *sniggers*

M/F are very mischievous in their own warped way and set events in motion that messes up G/E's relationship, causing them to split up. However, this also backfires on them, and G/E's arguments causes M/F's relationship to break up... and each wind up with the other's mate and has great sex with them.

But they are all miserable as they try to make each other jealous wanting their mate back... I would like their antics to be darkishly amusing/ludicrous angst, hurt/comfort.

Happy ending with them becoming best friends at the end though maybe wary of each other, but each couple being whole again, though with wear and tear from the outcome, and having great sex with their mates.

*****************************************************************************************************************************************************************

 

Aman didn’t have jails. Elves were generally well behaved and, with the fall of Sauron, evil had been reduced from a festering boil on the backside of Arda to a niggling itch. Yet crime did exist in Elvenhome. There were the occasional drunken brawls or disputes over jewelry that required the intervention of a magistrate. When sentencing was necessary it usually consisted of a few days’ confinement followed by reparations to the injured party.

Due to the lack of places for ready confinement, however, there was only one option when a sentence of jail time was pronounced – and that option was Mandos.

***

Laurefindil stood naked in the jet black cell, staring blackly at the jet black door, willing it to open. An unearthly blue light provided the only illumination of the accommodations: two ebony cots, and a hole in one corner for a toilet. He glanced at the cot upon which lay Maitimo, face down, still sleeping it off. A thread of spittle ran from the side of his mouth creating a shiny puddle on the dark wood. On his left butt cheek was tattooed a florid heart with “Erestor” emblazoned on a banner in its center.

Laurefindil cringed and turned his attention again to the silent door. His fingers went unconsciously to the tattoo on his own rump that, even though he couldn’t see it, he knew said “Fingon”. He thanked Eru that he’d had the presence of mind to choose Fingon’s Sindarin name. The spot already burned like a Balrog’s balls without the added letters.

A noise came from beyond the door and Laurefindil stepped forward hoping it meant he was going to be released. Instead, a smaller door within the door opened and a bluish-white light deposited two trays of food in the cell.

“Wait!” Laurefindil called, and the light hesitated then seeped further in.

“I’m not supposed to talk to the prisoners,” it said.

“When will I get out? Has anyone come to speak to Námo? Give me a break here, I just woke up.”

“How would I know? Do you think I’d be running errands if I held any sort of favor here?” the light grumbled.

Laurefindil hated these trustees, always bent out of whatever shape they still had because they’d died and had to wait for a new body. He smiled grimly, thinking of Maedhros and Erestor. This fellow had no idea how long a wait could be.

An annoyed red pulsed at the center of the light and its edges crackled with blue electricity.

“Hey, you’re Noldor, aren’t you?” Laurefindil said.

“Avari,” the light said tersely. All the years I spent avoiding the sea and then I fall in a river and drown. I swore I’d never set foot on Aman and now I’m to be stuck here forever.

“Tough break kid, but if you hear anything about me or Maedhros will you let us know?”

“Sure, I’d be happy to take your problems on my shoulders. . . Oh, wait,” the light throbbed and gave a mirthless chuckle, “no shoulders. Tough break. . . kid,” it quipped and seeped out through the keyhole.

“I hope Námo keeps you in here another millennium, you little shit,” Laurefindil muttered.

He wandered over and plunked himself down on his cot, cursing as his freshly tattooed butt made contact with the hard wood. He ran his fingers through his long golden hair and sighed. How had it ever come to this?

***

“Erestor, will you please hurry up,” Laurefindil called, “I need help choosing a belt for this tunic.”

“In a minute,” Erestor called back.

Laurefindil fumed. It was never just a minute where Erestor was concerned. Every seam had to be straight, every hair in place, each shoe buffed or buckled just so. It was this attention to detail that had made Erestor’s counsel valuable to Elrond back in Imladris, though it was a quality Laurefindil, quick to act on impulse, rarely appreciated. He went into the bedroom where Erestor was putting the finishing touches on his braid, tying it off with the end of the red ribbon that ran through it. Laurefindil's heart, and other places, leapt at the sight of Erestor in his scarlet tunic and black satin trousers. Erestor turned his night-black eyes to Laurefindil, regarding him appraisingly.

“Is that what you’re wearing?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

“What’s wrong with it?” Laurefindil tried to hide a frayed sleeve with his long fingers and Erestor’s eyes dropped to his hand, catching him in the act.

“Nolofinwë is giving this soiree to celebrate Turukáno’s return to Tirion and you know how picky he is about fashion and protocol. Do you really want to go to a formal dinner looking like an unmade bed?”

“I like an unmade bed, there’s no turning down the sheets first,” Laurefindil countered.

“Your attempts to change the subject are transparent and pitiful. Now go put on the green tunic I got you last week.”

“But the collar is stiff and uncomfortable.”

“It’s formal, you’re supposed to be uncomfortable. Now let me see about that belt,” Erestor said, reaching into his closet for a suitable alternative to the three Laurefindil held.

***

Maitimo and Findekáno were standing in a corner watching the guests mill about, bored looks on their strikingly handsome faces.

“Why must my father insist on having a party every time one of us returns to the city? It’s gotten where I’m afraid to go for a ride in the country for fear there will be a feast awaiting me upon my return.” Findekáno said, sipping a Lindir cocktail.

“But this time it’s for a good cause. Your brother is looking to mend fences with some of the former Gondothlim. You have to admit it’s a good move politically.”

“If it works,” Findekáno said. “Besides, nothing is as useless as politics, especially in this Age.”

“Politics is all we have now that everyone who ever planned on sailing has reached Aman,” Maitimo said. “Why, whatever would we do if. . .”

He didn’t get the chance to finish for Findekáno nudged him sharply in the ribs. “Look who just walked in!”

“Ow! Whoever it is there is no call to. . . Oh my. This could be interesting.”

He followed his cousin’s gaze to where Laurefindil and Erestor stood chatting with Nolofinwë. Or rather Erestor was chatting while Laurefindil tugged at the collar of his tunic and tried to look interested in what Nolofinwë was saying.

“Well I’ll be buggered,” Maitimo whispered.

“That’s a given,” Findekáno said with a grin. “I wonder why Laurefindil came.”

Maitimo laughed. “Clearly because Erestor told him to. Look how uncomfortable he is. Oh, this is delicious.”

“I might have known Erestor would show up. He’s been doing his best to reform his image of late, glad-handing everyone with whom he comes in contact. It’s both transparent and pitiful.”

Laurefindil sighed visibly when the conversation between Erestor and Nolofinwë showed no signs of abating. He began to glance around the room at the other guests and his eyes fell upon Maitimo and Findekáno. When they saw him looking their way they both became suddenly and inordinately interested in each other’s shoes.

“Do you think he saw us,” Maitimo said out of the corner of his mouth.

Findekáno chanced a quick look. “Yes. He’s staring at you.”

“Bloody hells!” Maitimo growled. He’s never going to forgive me for killing Erestor, is he?”

“I rather think not,” Findekáno said, “though in his defense I can’t say I blame him.”

“You know that wasn’t my choice. . .” Maitimo began hotly.

“Look, you don’t have to justify it to me, I was there. I’m just saying it’s understandable under the circumstan. . .”

“Whoever are you addressing way down there?” A voice broke in.

The two looked up guiltily to see Erestor standing in front of them, a look of wry amusement on his face. “I thought perhaps to see you conversing with a Hobbit, but it must be something considerably smaller.” He glanced at the floor then back at Maitimo, locking eyes with him. “A rat, perhaps, or a mole.”

Maitimo turned as red as his hair but Findekáno smoothly intervened. “I was just telling Maitimo that I wish my father would replace these parquet floors. They are beginning to show wear with all the traffic they’re seeing lately.”

“Yes, your father does love a good party, though I don’t often see you in attendance.”

“Maitimo and I stay busy, but the offer of free food and drink does draw its share of gadflies.”

"We are lucky your father doesn't share your cynicism, Findekáno. I think it is admirable he seeks to forge peace and bury old grudges."

"Like your boy Laurefindil?" Maitimo broke in. The tips of his ears were still tinged red.

"What can I say? He's very loyal to me. Not that he's ever sworn an oath. . ."

"Why you. . .!" Maitimo lunged at Erestor.

Findekáno spilled his drink on his tunic in the process of restraining the enraged Maitimo. "Not here, Maitimo, please!" he said urgently.

Erestor looked on mildly. "Once a kinslayer, always a kinslayer," he said, clucking his tongue and turning away.

"It takes one to know one!" Maitimo growled at his retreating back.

***

The next day Laurefindil was still angry about what Erestor had told him of his conversation with Maitimo. He brought Erestor his coffee in bed as he did every morning and was adding the cream and sugar just the way Erestor always took it. The problem was he was so upset he spilled the cream and was sprinkling sugar in Erestor’s hair as he waved his hands around while talking in an animated fashion. "I can't believe he spoke to you that way after all he has put us through!" he complained. Why didn't you tell me you were going over to talk to him? I'd have come with you."

"Now that wouldn't have done, would it?" Erestor said, gently taking the spoon from Laurefindil and brushing sugar from his raven tresses. "Even Findekáno realized it would not do to have a public row at a feast meant to promote peace. Besides, I didn't want to tear you away from your conversation with Turukáno. It was the reason we went after all."

"Peace be hanged," Laurefindil said. "I would rather have been there to give Maitimo a piece of my mind rather than listen to Turukáno talk about his plans for a new tower."

"Always overcompensating, those Feanorians," Erestor said with a grin.

Laurefindil was determined to hold onto his anger but found he could not, gazing upon Erestor's infectious smile. "That's a problem you'll never have, my love," he said, kissing the stray grains of sugar from Erestor’s lips.

Erestor pulled away briefly to set the tray upon the nightstand then seized Laurefindil, tumbling him to the bed for a morning grapple.

***

Lying in bed next to Findekáno, Maitimo was having trouble letting go of his encounter with Erestor or 'the most maddening Noldo Eru ever let live' as he always thought of him.

"You should have let me punch him," he complained to Findekáno. "He deserves it after all he's put us through."

“It wasn’t the venue,” Findekáno said with a sigh. “We shouldn’t have gone. I might have known he and Laurefindil would be there.”

“We have a right to go where we want, and it was your father’s house. Those two make me sick anyway, always walking around Tirion together holding hands, flaunting their relationship, acting like the perfect couple. It’s scandalous they way they carry on.” Maitimo was working up to something, Findekáno could tell.

“You mean like the way we carry on?” Findekáno yawned. He was hoping to diffuse the situation before it began with a bit of humor, but Maitimo was past being kidded or cajoled out of his scheming.

“I want to do something to them,” Maitimo said, crumpling the sheet in his hands. “Something twisted.

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, something.”

Maitimo had never been the best strategist. In fact the proverb “Never bring an entourage to a Balrog fight” was coined in response to his ill-fated parley with Morgoth. Yet what he lacked in tactical skill Maitimo made up for in his dual traits of dogged determination and rash aggression.

“Well, when you work it out, let me know,” Findekáno said, rising and heading for the bathroom. He had expected Maitimo to have cooled down by the time he returned but instead when Maitimo looked up and saw him padding in naked, his long black hair flowing free, a wicked gleam lit his lover’s eyes.

“Do you think you could talk your father into making his next party a masked ball?”

***

Laurefindil was as giddy as a Vala with a new race to awaken as he bustled around putting the final touches on his apparel.

“Finally Nolofinwë has a good idea for a party,” he said, fluffing up the feathers of his swan costume. He looked in the mirror, admiring his image. He wore a costume of blue and white feathers that fluttered gracefully with each movement and a blue headpiece in the shape of a swan’s head with gold sequins around its eyes and a half mask at the swan’s “throat” that covered him from brow to nose. The headpiece had a stately expression which is what had drawn him to the costume when he’d seen it in Beleg’s shop.

Everyone had been a bit surprised when Beleg, the legendary bowman, had come out of Mandos with a fondness for sequins and tulle, and some even laughed when he had opened a haberdashery for the more flamboyant denizens of Aman, but now he was the “go to” guy for fashions for all occasions and his designs were highly sought by the smart set from Tirion to Taniquetil.

“Are you ready, Erestor?” he called.

“I suppose so.” Erestor did not sound happy.

“What’s the matter?” Laurefindil asked.

Erestor came in dressed as a Balrog, tugging at his cumbersome mask in irritation. “This is the last time I let you choose our costumes. I can’t believe you would even want me to wear something like this.” His voice was muffled and sounded deeper than usual due to the mask’s design.

Laurefindil chuckled to see Erestor in the headpiece, the eyes lit with red. Beleg did such amazing work that Laurefindil felt a brief chill of memory that was dispelled in an instant when Erestor began to chase his wings like a dog chasing its tail as he tried to catch the end of the harness straps to finish buckling them on.

“Oh, come on Erestor, don’t you see the humor?” he asked, helping Erestor with the recalcitrant buckle. “Beauty,” he indicated his costume with a wave of a slender hand, “and the beast.” He finished adjusting the wings and stepped back to admire his handiwork. “Now where did I put that whip?”

Erestor caught sight of himself in the mirror and groaned. “This is ludicrous. I refuse to wear this monstrosity! I will not go to a masked ball where Maitimo and Findekáno are likely to be in attendance wearing a Balrog costume. They will make no end of sport of this, unless they simply have me thrown out on the street for insulting them.”

“Nonsense. You don’t look like any particular Balrog, just a generic one. And how would it look if they made a scene? Besides, it would be in poor taste if I wore it.”

“It’s in poor taste for anyone to wear it. Whatever possessed you I’ll never know.”

If you feel that strongly, I have a Telerian ship captain’s costume you could wear instead.”

“Why didn’t you say so? Help me get out of this contraption,” Erestor said, reaching for the buckle of the wing harness.

Laurefindil sighed and reached to help him when there came a knock upon the door.

“Coming!” Laurefindil called and went to answer it, leaving Erestor to struggle with the harness on his own.

In a few moments Laurefindil returned, looking annoyed. “The twins want me to come help them with an ailing mare. You’ll have to go on without me.”

“There is no way I’m going to this thing dressed as a Teleri or anything else without you,” Erestor said firmly.

“Don’t be a baby,” Laurefindil chided. “It will take an hour at most.”

“Then I’ll wait an hour.”

“Suit yourself. The Teleri costume is in my closet.”

“I just might have these blasted wings off by then,” Erestor said, tugging futilely at the buckle.

***

As they entered Nolofinwë’s hall, Erestor was still grumbling about his costume. “I don’t know how you did it but this Teleri costume is even worse. I look like a gay pirate!”

“Don’t blame me, blame Beleg. He assured me it would be a suitable alternative should the Balrog not be to your liking.”

“Believe me, I shall take it up with him at the earliest opportunity,” Erestor grumbled.

***

Maitimo, in a swan costume identical to the one Laurefindil wore, watched from the balcony as his prey entered the lobby below. “They’re here,” he hissed to Findekáno, who was standing out of sight in the alcove behind him.

“It’s about time, I’m dying here!” Findekáno said, his voice muffled by his heavy mask. “What’s Erestor wearing?”

“Great Eru! I have no idea,” Maitimo said. ”He looks like a gay pirate.”

“What? I thought he was wearing the Balrog costume. Why is he not wearing the Balrog costume?” Findekáno hissed, his wings rustling in annoyance.”

How the Iron Hells should I know?” Maitimo snapped. “Beleg told me Laurefindil bought the only Balrog costume he had, said it was in very poor taste too, and of course I agree. . .”

“Never mind about that now,” Findekáno broke in, “the question is, what are we going to do about it?”

“Just give me a minute to think,” Maitimo said. “I’m still dressed like Laurefindil, maybe I could get Erestor alone.”

“Fat chance of that. Besides, what am I supposed to do? I can’t let them see me in this get up.”

“I don’t know. The chances of finding you a Teleri captain’s costume in the next few minutes is almost zilch,” Maitimo sighed.”

Almost?” Findekáno snorted.

Maitimo shot him a dark look. “All right, just go get out of that thing and meet me in the garden in ten minutes.”

Findekáno struggled out of the alcove, catching his wings on the sides and nearly ripping them off in the process. He then stomped off down the hall muttering Sindarin curses.

Laurefindil and Erestor promenaded through the receiving line arm in arm, greeting an array of Feanorians: cousins, half-cousins, uncles, wives, half-wives, aunts, nieces, nephews, more halves of more relatives until they reached the end where Nolofinwë was welcoming everyone warmly. When he saw Erestor and Laurefindil his smile faded a bit, but he took Erestor’s hand and shook it genially.

“How good of you both to come,” he said, slightly emphasizing the ‘both’ as he glanced at Laurefindil. “And what charming costumes you have. Now don’t tell me. . . Laurefindil is obviously a swan, very elegant, and you. . .” He looked Erestor up and down, his brow wrinkling speculatively. “A sodomite brigand of some sort?”

Erestor snatched his hand back and glared at Laurefindil. “This is the last time I let you pick the costumes.” He turned back to Nolofinwë with a strained smile. “I’m told I’m a Teleri ship’s captain, my lord.”

“Ah, yes, well I’ve never seen a Teleri quite so flamboyant, but I’ve also never met one who wasn’t up for a jolly rogering.” He laughed and poked Erestor in the ribs and Erestor burst into a whoop of startled laughter because Nolofinwë had zeroed in on his ticklish spot.

“Indeed, my lord. What a rare sense of humor you have,” he gasped. ‘Because it is certainly not well done’ he thought in irritation.

Nolofinwë smiled, pleased with the compliment. “If you could spare me but a moment before the dancing begins there is a matter about which I wish to speak with you.” He glanced at Laurefindil again and Erestor sighed inwardly as he made an acquiescent bow.

“Certainly.” He turned to Laurefindil. “I will meet you in the garden in a few minutes.”

***

Laurefindil welcomed the opportunity to escape to the garden. He had never been much for crowds and court. Even as chief of the House of the Golden Flower he had been uncomfortable at the formal ceremonies favored by Turukáno and the other lords of Gondolin. One of the things he loved about Imladris was the informality of its Lord, despite the best efforts of Erestor to formalize and talk to death the smallest points of procedure.  
The garden was not only beautiful this night; it was also blessedly empty. It would be an hour or more before the party goers abandoned their politics and simpering to sneak away for illicit trysts among the trees.

Laurefindil breathed deeply, and removed his headpiece, enjoying the cool breeze that danced through his golden tresses. He wandered in pleasant thought for a time until he found himself at one of the modest fountains scattered here and there throughout the garden. He sat upon its edge and gazed at his reflection, noting how beautiful he looked crowned by the reflection of the stars overhead. A slight frown wrinkled his perfect brow as he wondered if this is what Erestor saw when he looked at him, dazzling beauty and, perhaps, nothing more. He could scarcely claim to be Erestor’s intellectual equal, and his glory days were far behind him.

He trailed his fingers through the water, breaking up his image, and when it cleared his immortal heart stopped in his chest at the sight of a Balrog gazing back at him over his shoulder.

With a cry of alarm, he leapt to his feet, nearly tumbling into the fountain as he spun around. There stood an Elf dressed as a Balrog, red eyes flashing on and off like demented fireflies.

“Erestor! You scared my second life out of me,” he shouted, giving the figure a shove born of anger and residual fear. “What are you doing sneaking around out here? And when did you change costumes?”

Findekáno laughed and struggled out of the cumbersome headpiece. “It’s me, you twit.” He gave his shoulders a little shake and the wings flapped in a fashion a bit too real for Laurefindil’s jangled nerves.

“I might have known you’d steal our costume idea,” he huffed. “You’ve never had an original thought in your life. Why, I was being killed by a Balrog when you were but a gleam in your mother’s eye.”

“I believe if you’ll check your timeline you’ll discover it was I who was being stomped to death while you and my brother were hiding out in your secret enclave like a bunch of children afraid of a local bully,” Findekáno said.

“Your taunts impress me as little as those of Morgoth. And FYI, that costume is in poor taste.”

“Then why did you purchase one like it for Erestor?”

Laurefindil opened his mouth to reply, closed it, opened it again, closed it. . .

“Imitating a fish is carrying the whole “sea theme” a bit too far, don’t you think?” Findekáno said with a mocking grin.

Laurefindil may not have been the most eloquent Elf but he knew how to throw a punch. The next thing Findekáno knew he was lying on the ground with a sore jaw and a broken wing. He tried to leap to his feet to continue the fight but the heavy costume prevented it and he lay there rocking to and fro trying to find a position from which he could rise.

Laurefindil laughed in gloating delight. “Carrying the whole “Balrog at the bottom of the abyss” theme a bit far, don’t you think?” he taunted.

Findekáno growled in rage and doubled his efforts but was soon exhausted. He gave up and lay there, glaring knives at Laurefindil.

“Well, are you going to spend the rest of the evening standing there with that stupid smirk on your face or are you going to help me up?” he said at last.

A long moment passed with Laurefindil looking down on him, his eyes twinkling merrily, before he extended his hand. “I just wanted to remember you like this.”

When Findekáno gained his feet he looked for a moment like he might return the favor by socking Laurefindil in the eye but then he just shook his head and laughed, the absurdity of the situation dissipating his ill humor.

“I’m sorry I insulted you,” he said. “You’re not such a bad fellow. I don’t know why I despise you.”  
“That’s funny, I was going to say the same about you,” Laurefindil smiled, “and I’m sorry too, about your jaw.”

Findekáno touched his jaw and shrugged. “No harm done, you hit like Galadriel.”

“With or without her ring?”

They both laughed.

An awkward silence ensued as the two gazed at each other not quite knowing what to say or do next. Finally, Findekáno spoke. “He had no choice, you know.”

Laurefindil set his jaw stubbornly. “We always have a choice.”

“That’s easy for you to say. You came out of Mandos a hero. The rest of us weren’t so lucky.”

“The rest of you were kinslayers!”

“I may have been at Alqualondë but I never slew anyone!” Findekáno said angrily. “Now, Erestor on the other hand. . .”

“Oh yes, Erestor carries the taint of a kinslayer! Born on the Helcaraxë in the bitterness of exile, his mother dead birthing him, raised to hate and fear the Valar by his father who was killed in a fire at his smithy when Erestor was only nineteen. He was no prince of the Noldor; he was self-taught and worked hard for everything he achieved. Yes, he followed Celegorm into Doriath, but he killed there in self-defense, not out of bloodlust. To be branded a kinslayer and punished by the Valar was as unjust as Maitimo doing the deed in Námo’s stead.

“Námo could not do the deed himself, and you know that. The Valar are prohibited by Illúvatar from slaying his children. Námo needed for Maitimo to do it - and it was punishment for him as well, which you would know had you only had the eyes to see it. You are stubborn and unforgiving, Laurefindil. Neither Maitimo nor I bear you any ill will. Why must you be so harsh?”

“Harsh? You think I’m harsh for refusing to allow your families to get your hooks in us? Erestor is with me and I am his protector now. None of you will ever hurt him again as long as I draw breath.”

“You are being a fool, Laurefindil. No one is trying to hurt him, you’re fighting ghosts,” Findekáno snapped.

“Be that as it may, when he gets here we’re leaving. I had to talk him into coming tonight and now I’m sorry I did.”

“Well, when Maitimo gets here we’re leaving too. Our days of attending Ada’s boring parties are over. You and Erestor are welcome to strut around town like a couple of jackdaws if you wish but Maitimo and I will no longer be watching.”

“I’m a swan, not a jackdaw, you twit!” Laurefindil growled. “And come to think of it, why did you buy that Balrog costume if you knew that I had gotten one for Erestor anyway?” A sudden light of realization lit his eyes. “Wait, you planned this didn’t you? Trying to pull some sort of switch?”

Findekano looked exceedingly guilty and glanced around the garden nervously. “It wasn’t my idea. And where is Maitimo anyway? He was supposed to be here a half hour ago.”

“I can’t believe you two would do something so childish. And Erestor was supposed to meet me here too. Where is he?” He too looked around the garden only to see a couple dressed as Laurelin and Telperion disappear into a grove at the western edge of the grounds.

They stood for a moment, shifting from foot to foot, then at the same moment both broke into a run, flying up the steps two at a time and sliding into the hall where lively music and whirling couples created a kaleidoscope of color and movement. Frantically their eyes searched the dancing couples both hoping to find their partners enjoying a spin with one of the unattached ladies of the court but there was no sign of them anywhere. A search of the feasting table and music room turned up nothing as well.

Laurefindil gave Findekano a frantic look. “Where could Erestor be? You know your way around the palace, Fingon, please help me find him. Please!”

Findekano found he could not bear to see Laurefindil so panicked. He hoped Maitimo hadn’t carried through with the “plan” to humiliate Erestor by getting him into a compromising position then revealing he had the wrong swan. Maitimo thought it would be the most brilliant joke on serious Erestor and fatuous Laurefindil to switch places and try to seduce them. It had seemed an amusing idea when Maitimo presented it, and his enthusiasm for the scheme had overwhelmed Findekano such that he had agreed to wear the wretched Balrog costume. How was he to know it would actually work? Especially since Erestor had shown up in the wrong costume. His stomach knotted now as he thought of the only other place they might look.

“Follow me,” he said, and headed for the stairs.

“Why are we going up to the private quarters?” Laurefindil asked as Findekano led him as hastily as his bulky costume would allow up the marble steps.

“Maitimo might be up here, and maybe he’s seen Erestor,” Findekano said shortly. He really didn’t want to think about what might be awaiting them.

The two rushed down the hall and Findekano stopped before a door, hesitating, hoping to hear if there was any activity inside before opening it; but Laurefindil had no such qualms and he threw open the door and rushed inside. If Maitimo knew anything at all about Erestor’s whereabouts he wanted to be the first to question him.  
The sight that met his eyes was one he would never in four Ages of the world have expected: Erestor in his Teleri Captain costume riding the undulating waves of a feathered swan who was moaning in orgasm. Erestor, naked from the waist down and straddling Maitimo’s feathered hips, was caught up in his own tide of ecstasy and he cried out Laurefindil’s name at the same time the sound of the door banging open made him turn and spy Laurefindil, mouth agape, standing in the doorway, a Balrog with Findekáno’s face standing behind him.

He leapt off Maitimo with a speed and agility that belied his customary stately demeanor, his wilted member slapping against his thigh like a thunderclap in the sudden startled silence of the room. “Laurefindil?” he squeaked.

Maitimo raised himself up on his elbows with a blissful smile. “Yes dear?” he said in a perfect imitation of Laurefindil’s dulcet tones. His swan headdress was slightly askew, revealing a length of fiery red hair.

Erestor’s gazed snapped from him to Laurefindil and back again, his mind only beginning to register the enormity of what had just transpired. Laurefindil’s face crumpled from shock to incredulous anguish.

“Oh, Erestor! How could you betray me thus?” he cried. He took in Erestor’s disheveled state and burst into tears. “Beleg will never give me back the deposit on that costume now!”

He turned and ran from the room, pushing Findekano aside, a skiff of feathers wafting gently to the floor in his wake.

***

Findekano rode swiftly through the streets of Tirion carrying only a saddlebag with a change of clothes and a few toiletries. He would send for the rest of his things later. His fight with Maitimo had been their largest ever and the angry accusations flung between them still rang in his ears as he rode. He urged the horse into a gallop, seeking to spend some of his anger in the recklessness of dashing through the starlit city. As he rounded a corner he almost collided with a figure walking in the shadows. The figure gave a startled cry and Findekáno’s horse reared, nearly unseating him.

As Findekano got his steed under control, the man looked up and recognized him the same moment Findekano made out the pale golden hair of Laurefindil.

“Forgive me,” Findekano said, “I did not see you there.”

“Forgive you for nearly sending me back to Mandos with your crazy riding? Is this all you wish forgiveness for?” Laurefindil asked bitterly. “Because I am sure you will understand that I am not in a forgiving mood at the moment.”

“Oh, Laurefindil, I have made a mess of everything this time,” Findekano groaned.” I swear to you that what you saw was not part of the plan. After you and Erestor left, Maitimo and I had it out once and for all. I never want to see him again, and I don’t blame you for feeling the same about me.”

“Well I never want to see Erestor again either. Even if Maitimo managed to fool him he should have known as soon as they, as soon as he. . . He should have known, that’s all.” Laurefindil finished sadly. “I can’t go home. I can never go back there, but I have no place else.” He brushed roughly at his eyes. “But it is none of your concern. You have ruined our lives and I’m happy yours has been ruined as well. It will give me great comfort as I lay alone in the back room of some tavern or bakery.”

“Bakery?”

“I have a sweet tooth, all right? Now get out of here. I can’t even be miserable without you screwing it up.”

“Look, I’m miserable too,” Findekano said. “I’m most sincerely sorry for this whole business. I can’t make it up to you but I can offer you shelter at my country house until we can both sort this out. It was a gift from my father a few years ago and I never told Maitimo about it. Neither he nor Erestor will find us there.”  
“And why would I even consider accepting your hospitality after what happened tonight?” Laurefindil asked petulantly.

“Because you have nowhere else to go, and because I can’t bear to be alone right now.”

Laurefindil hesitated. Findekano certainly looked sincere, but then so had Erestor all the times he had said he loved him. Yet what choice did he have? He knew he would wander the streets sleeplessly all night and, come dawn, he would still have nowhere to go and would then be forced to wander the streets in daylight covered in feathers and sequins, the cuckolded laughingstock of Tirion.

“Is it a big country house?” he said at last.

“Big enough that we never have to see each other if that is what you want, and crawling with servants eager to fulfill your every desire.”

“In that case, I accept.” Laurefindil said, as though making an enormous sacrifice.

Findekano extended his hand, Laurefindil took it and vaulted onto the horse. Settling in behind Findekano, Laurefindil wrapped his arms around his waist, only barely registering how solid he felt and how good he smelled before the horse sprang away into the night.

***

To Be Continued


End file.
